


Encore Performance

by Corinna



Series: Encore Performance [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambition, Ann Arbor, As far from RPF as I could make it given the premise, Future Fic, Harry Potter References, Journalism, Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2013, M/M, References to Finn's death, University of Michigan, musical theater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 18,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinna/pseuds/Corinna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Blaine and Kurt never get back together, Blaine goes off to college at the University of Michigan. There, he forms a theater group with his friends, and they become Internet-famous with a musical about Harry Potter. Which is how he comes back into Kurt's life again.</p>
<p>Written in a series of scenes for the 2013 Klaine Advent challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Artist

**Author's Note:**

> Important disclaimer: While this story was obviously inspired by Darren Criss’s personal history, it is not RPF. I’m just taking reality as a jumping-off point.
> 
> As I upload this story to AO3, you can also follow it on Tumblr [here](http://chiasmuslovesme.tumblr.com/tagged/asquaredadvent)

It’s so typically Isabelle that even being let go comes wrapped up with good advice and new doors being opened.

“You never intended to stay this long in the first place,” she reminds him. “You used to think of this as a side job until your artistic career took off.”

“I still perform,” he counters weakly. “I even write my own songs now.”

“And they’re wonderful, Kurt. Put more of your energy into that, and into the arts — it will help you spread your wings as a journalist too. There are so many great outlets you should be writing for, about theater and culture and all sorts of things we can’t publish in  _Vogue_. And of course you’ll still freelance for us too. I couldn’t survive Fashion Week without you.”

 _You seem to be able to survive the rest of the year without me just fine_ , he thinks bitterly, even though he knows it’s not fair. He knows Isabelle fought for him. The budget is the budget, and there was only so much she could do, in the end. 

“Kurt, I know this feels awful right now. I remember when I had to close down my business. I thought I was going to die. But it led to all sorts of wonderful opportunities for me, and I promise, this will lead to fantastic opportunities for you, too. We’ll make sure of it.”

He does the best he can towards a smile, and gives her arm a grateful little squeeze. She’s walking him out the door on his last day in the office, and that’s a gesture all by itself, one he’s grateful for. It means he’ll get to leave here with his dignity, if not much else.

At the front desk, Carlos is watching something on YouTube, the way he always is when it’s quiet. But when he sees who’s coming out the door, he rushes to stand up and join them. He moves so fast his headphones come with him - he knocks them down to his shoulders before he grabs Kurt for a hug. “Girl, we are going to _miss_  you here, you know that, right?”

Kurt hugs him back. Carlos is a sweetheart, really. Kurt will miss his steady stream of gossip and viral videos. “I’ll miss you too.”

“He’ll be back for visits,” Isabelle insists.

“It won’t be the same,” Carlos says. “Who’m I going to talk men’s fashion with now?”

“The men’s fashion editor?” Kurt suggests.

Carlos just rolls his eyes. “Uh-huh. Well, I have your email, right? We’ll talk.”

“All right.” Carlos has his own misplaced ideas about jackets but Kurt will talk fashion with him, sure.  

From Carlos’s computer, there’s a burst of applause, recorded through cheap microphones.

“Honey, I thought you were all cartoons this week. What on earth are you watching?” Isabelle asks.

“Oh, I  _was_  all cartoons. Then my friend sent me this link? It’s this musical version of the first Harry Potter book, made by some college kids. It’s really good. I watched it yesterday, and now I’m watching it again.”

“That does sound fun,” says Isabelle.

“It’s like this big hit on YouTube,” Carlos says. “I mean, it’s no Maru the cat, but they’ve had over a million hits, and they’re doing a Reddit AMA next week.”

“Wow,” Kurt says. Nothing he’d ever done at school had gotten a million anythings, and he’d gone to NYADA. Maybe he should’ve saved his money and invested in a video recorder.

“Oh, you should see it,” says Carlos, “I’ll send you the link.” 

The singing starts again, a large group singing together. And then one voice alone, carrying the solo: it sounds… familiar? 

“I should go,” Kurt says.

The voice soars again, and even though it’s a poor recording playing through computer speakers on the other side of the desk, Kurt has a sinking feeling. Certain things you don’t forget, even five years later.

“Carlos… can I just come around and see that for a second?”

“I didn’t know you were a big Harry Potter fan.”

“I’m not,” says Kurt. “But whoever’s singing sounds a lot like my ex-boyfriend.”

 


	2. Belong

“Well, I think you should do it,” Lucas says.

They’re in his kitchen, making dinner. Lucas is prepping a shrimp stir-fry, all complicated sauces and chopped up vegetables. He prefers to work alone when he cooks, so Kurt’s drinking white wine and watching. Lucas has extremely nice forearms, and his sleeves are rolled up as he works.

“It’s just weird,” Kurt says.

“Sweetheart, the whole game of freelancing is luck and timing. Timing and luck, I’ve said that before. You lucked into this story, with a hell of a hook, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Do you know how many guys would kill for an Isabelle of their own, someone who’d call Graydon Carter for you personally?”

Kurt shrugs. Isabelle had insisted on watching more of the video — _A Boy and His School_ , the show is called, _A Totally Unauthorized Homage_ — and at one point an ad had appeared over the recording. _Supernova does ABaHS LIVE in Ann Arbor - One Night Only Special Encore Performance - Charity EVENT!_ She’d grabbed Carlos’s mouse and clicked through to see it. Blaine and his friends are doing their show at some big theater in their college town as a benefit for a local anti-bullying organization. They’re going to record it in HD, too, to update their YouTube presence. The show is in two weeks, and Isabelle’s eyes had lit up at the sight of that. “ _Vanity Fair_ ’s annual technology issue is coming up,” she’d told him. “I think a story about college kids turned viral superstars would be a refreshing change of pace among all those same-y CEO profiles, don’t you? I’ll call Graydon tonight.”

“You don’t think he’ll say no, do you?” Lucas asks.

“Who, Blaine? I don’t think so. It was all a long time ago. I mean, we haven’t even seen each other in years.” After the breakup, Kurt had done what he could to systematically cut Blaine out of his life. It had hurt like hell, but it was easier than being reminded of Blaine’s betrayal. Isabelle’s advice to the contrary notwithstanding, sometimes what you needed to move on was just to move on.

The last time Kurt can remember them talking was at Finn’s funeral. He’d said “thank you for coming,” and Blaine had looked pained by the courtesy. “Kurt,” he’d said, “of _course_. I’m so sorry.” He’d put his hand on Kurt’s arm, and Kurt could feel the heat of him through his jacket. He’d stepped away. “Thank you,” he’d repeated, and that was the end. He’d stayed home with Rachel when the school did its own tribute three weeks later.

“Maybe that’s what’s weird,” Kurt continues. “I mean, ‘hi, you broke my heart when we were kids, can I use you to jumpstart my freelance career?’”

“Don’t you think he owes you that?” Lucas says.

“‘Owe’ is a really big word.”

Lucas sighs and puts down the knife. “Kurt, you belong in the pages of _Vanity Fair_. And the _New Yorker._ And any other big magazine that’ll have you. You’re a really gifted writer. You just need to take some initiative for a change. Grab for what you want.”

Kurt nods, thinking about it. He used to be like that, when he was a kid. The hard-charging, hard-headed diva who’d forced his way into NYADA. Somewhere along the line, he’s lost that boy. Maybe it’s time to get him back.

“And if you have to use your ex-boyfriend’s success to make your own, so what? It’s all material. In the words of the master, honey, make it work.”

“No fair using Tim Gunn on me.” Kurt moves into Lucas’s arms, and gives him a little playful pout to show he’s relenting. “Oh, all right. I have to talk to Graydon tomorrow. If I can sell him on it, I’ll do the article.”

“That’s my brave boy.” Lucas kisses him on the nose, and then slaps his ass. “Now get out of my kitchen: dinner’s almost ready.”


	3. Consume

Kurt keeps a bottle of Scotch on the bookshelf. It’s a habit he picked up from his first boyfriend in New York. Adam had liked to put Scotch in hot drinks in cold weather, and to sip it neat during difficult conversations. Kurt takes a shot for himself now and swallows it all down at once.

He’d sent Blaine an email at his old Gmail account, asking to set up a call. He wasn’t sure if Blaine would even still be checking the address, but the response had come in within the hour:  _Sure; how about 3pm tomorrow?_ So here Kurt is at 2:55, staring at the phone, and trying to stop his stomach from consuming itself with nervousness. It’s just Blaine, for God’s sake. There’s no reason to be so nervous.

At 3:01 exactly, he presses the phone number in Blaine’s email, selects Call, and takes a deep breath. Blaine picks up on the second ring.

“Kurt Hummel,” he says warmly. “How’ve you been?”

“I… I’m okay.” It’s disorienting, hearing his voice again. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good, thanks. What’s this about Supernova? You saw our show?”

“I did. The receptionist at Vogue is a fan.” 

Blaine laughs a little, and Kurt can almost see his face, lit up by delight. “Well, tell her we said thanks.”

“I will,” Kurt says. “And, so, you know,  _Vanity Fair_  does a technology issue every year. We thought college kids turned viral sensation would be an interesting story to add to that mix. The capricious nature of fame in a society of spectacle, or something. The editor’s really excited about it.” He’d said more: a whole rant about YouTube chewing people up and spitting them out, and something Kurt hadn’t really followed about the Panopticon, but that is how a conversation with Graydon Carter goes, apparently. Kurt is grateful that Isabelle warned him in advance. 

“Wow! So, who would write it?”

Kurt frowns. “Well, I would. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh, I see. Okay. And they know about…”

“They know we dated, yes. He thinks it adds an interesting personal element to the story.” Kurt had thought he might get to write five hundred words; by the end of their talk, Carter wanted five  _thousand_. The money he’d make would cover a month’s living expenses, even after taxes. Kurt’s hand is getting sweaty around the phone.

“Okay. Huh. I guess — I mean, if you’re going to want interviews, I have to run it by Josh. He does our press stuff? But I don’t have a problem with it if you don’t.”

“No. I mean, obviously, I don’t, I’m calling, right?” Kurt winces at himself: he sounds like an idiot. “It’s fine. It’ll be… it’ll be nice to see you again, Blaine.” He manages to say this lightly, which makes him proud.

“Yeah,” Blaine says. “It will. I mean, for me to see you too. Not… anyway. I’ll give Josh your email. I’m sure it’ll all be fine. But it’s just easier if everything goes through one person.”

“Of course,” says Kurt. “I’ll look forward to hearing from him.”

“Great,” Blaine says. “Then maybe I’ll see you soon.”

When they end the call, Kurt pours himself another shot. It burns going down, but the heat of it in his stomach is a welcome distraction.


	4. Dirt

It’s an easy trip from the Detroit airport to Ann Arbor, once he remembers to not take US-23 towards Lima. The address Josh from Supernova had given him was south of campus, in a residential neighborhood. He drives the little rental car past houses set back on lush green lawns, neo-Colonials painted in cheery warm colors. Soon, perfectly tailored lawns give way to gardens a little less well-kept, and boxy shingled houses with a shutter hanging askew, or a Peace flag flying from the upper windows, and he knows he’s in a more student-friendly part of town.

The GPS directs him at last to a three-story yellow house with green wooden shutters. It’s got a rainbow flag, and a ratty blue couch out on the porch. There’s a poster for tonight’s show taped to the front door. Kurt takes a moment to compose himself before he presses the bell.

Someone shouts _“Door!”_ and he hears feet thudding hard on the floorboards. The door opens, and it’s not Blaine: it’s a girl, a tiny thing with a pixie haircut. “Yes?”

“Kurt Hummel, _Vanity Fair_?” It’s not his best opening line, but he was expecting to have to face Blaine first, and now he’s thrown a little.

“Oh, right. Nice to meet you. I’m Jill, I’m part of the troupe.” She shouts up the staircase. “Josh, that writer’s here!” Turning back to Kurt, she says, “Won’t you come in?”

The house is less of a mess than the few typical dorm rooms he’s been in, but it’s certainly a lot dirtier than anywhere he can imagine Blaine, the Blaine he knew, living voluntarily. But there’s piano music and voices singing, and that’s familiar, at least. Jill makes an exaggerated shushing gesture and leads him into the living room, where a group of students are rehearsing around an old upright. At the piano, of course, it’s Blaine.

It’s almost a shock, how much of a shock it isn’t. Blaine hasn’t changed that much: not in any of the obvious ways, anyhow. He’s wearing a Michigan sweatshirt, but with red pants and boat shoes. His hair is still slicked back, and he still makes those same faces when he sings. Kurt used to find them adorable. He spots them in the doorway and he gives them a big smile and a nod, but he then returns his attention to the music. _“Gryffindor, Gryffindor, my hand and heart for Gryffindor!”_ he sings, and the others around him come in on harmony. They sound so good together.

When they’re done, Blaine gets up from the piano bench and walks towards him. His eyes are crinkled with happiness, but he’s not quite smiling yet. Instead he’s inspecting Kurt, looking him up and down like he can’t quite believe his eyes. “Did you — did you grow _more_?”

“I….” And this isn’t what Kurt’s been expecting either. “I don’t think so?”

Blaine shakes his head. “Totally unfair. Well, welcome to Ann Arbor! I can’t believe you’re here.” Now there’s a smile, and Kurt can’t help smiling back. Blaine’s happiness has always been infectious.

“I can’t believe you’re Internet-famous. Congratulations.”

“That’s an exaggeration, but thank you.”

They look at each other awkwardly for a moment, and then Blaine leans in for a hug. It’s a straight-dude hug, all shoulders and pecs, and it’s easy — or easy enough. There’s none of the awkwardness Kurt’s been dreading, and for the first time, he really lets himself believe this is going to be okay. He’ll write a smart, funny, positive article about Supernova and their social-media savvy. He’ll spend time with Blaine without it opening up long-closed wounds. The ugliness of the past doesn’t have to define them, not anymore. He exhales deeply, and smiles.

When they separate, Kurt realizes the singers, Jill, and another guy behind her — probably Josh — are all watching the two of them with various levels of curiosity and suspicion. One of the singers, a tall Asian woman, is practically glaring. Blaine, of course, beams back at them obliviously.

“You guys!” he says. “I want you all to meet Kurt.”

Now all of them are staring at Kurt, and he wonders why he ever thought that any of this would be easy.


	5. Echo

“This is Kurt?” the Asian woman who’s been glaring at him asks. “ _Pizza jar_  Kurt?”

“Kurt Hummel,” Jill says accusingly. “I knew that name sounded familiar. Pizza jar Kurt!”

“Guys,” Blaine says. “It’s all right. Kurt’s the guy writing that article about us for  _Vanity Fair._ ”

“Pizza jar Kurt,” Josh says again. He shakes his head. “You couldn’t have mentioned this?”

 “I…” Kurt doesn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t mention it because it doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago,” Blaine says, a little stiffly. “If Kurt and I are all right with it, then you guys should be too.”

The Asian woman just shakes her head. The other singers shrug and turn back to their scores.

“So, I normally do the tour kind of things if a reporter comes over, but I guess you can do it if you want to, Blaine,” Josh says. It’s clearly meant as an apology, and from the way Blaine’s softening he’s taking it as one too. “Just, like, remember to respect closed doors and shit.”

Blaine nods and gestures for Kurt to follow him out of the living room. Kurt realizes he was half-expecting Blaine to take his hand instead.  _Snap out of it, Hummel,_  he tells himself.  _Ohio was a long time ago._

“So,” he says as they climb the stairs, “‘pizza jar Kurt’?”

“Oh.” He’s expecting Blaine to blush a little at that, but he just rolls his eyes. “Well, the original Novas, we all met as first-years. Most of us were in MoJo — that’s a dorm — and the rest just sort of, you know, found us. So that first Thanksgiving, everyone who’d started off the year with a long-distance boyfriend or girlfriend came back broken up. Everyone. It was almost funny, except for how bummed out people were. So we made a rule: if you mentioned your ex, you had to put a dollar in the jar, and when the jar would get full, we used the proceeds to buy pizza. We had an RA named Curt, with a C, and obviously I could mention him all I wanted. So, you know: pizza jar Kurt.” 

Kurt’s still stuck at the start of this story. “We’d been broken up for a while by then.”

“Oh, I know. Obviously. But I didn’t think it was fair that I should get to mention my ex in a story from home, just because we’d been broken up for longer. And, you know, I think it helped. I mean, everybody thought their relationship was going to be the one to make it. And nobody’s was.” Blaine shrugs as they reach the top floor. “Come on. Let me show you around.”


	6. Falter

There are eight of them living in the house: two couples, and four singles, Blaine included. The place is falling apart — the floorboards squeak ominously under Kurt’s shoes — but they’ve made it sort of homey. Posters from their shows, and from other student productions, are blu-tacked to the walls.  It’s not Kurt’s tidy little Clinton Hill studio, but he has to admit there’s a charm to the place. Blaine chatters amiably about the history of the troupe — how they went from hanging out to writing music together, their first failed show, and how they’d come up with the idea of doing a Harry Potter musical. Kurt’s missing a lot of what Blaine’s saying while he looks around and takes the place in. He figures he can ask again later. When they get to Blaine’s room, the door is open, but they don’t go in. Kurt recognizes the robots on the dresser and the dark plaid shams on the pillows. Like everything about Blaine now, it’s familiar and strange all at once. 

The last stop is the room across the hall from Blaine’s. It’s a girl’s room, with a grey quilt and a teddy bear on the dresser. “And you’ll be staying here,” Blaine says.

Kurt just stares at him. “What?”

“You’re staying, right? You’re not leaving right after the show?”

“No, I said, I’m staying three days total. But I have a hotel room.”

“Oh.” Blaine’s face says that he never even considered that possibility. “Well, I mean. If you want. Where are you staying?”

“The Red Roof Inn over by the stadium.”

Blaine’s eyes go wide. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Kurt, that place is nasty. Football weekends — obviously, it’s worse on football weekends, but ugh, no. We can try to find you a room somewhere nicer, even another motel. Or really, you can stay here. Marjorie’s at her boyfriend’s house most nights now anyway so it’s really no big deal. I thought that if you were writing about the troupe you’d want to, you know, get the ‘full Supernova experience.’” He puts the last part in air quotes and gives Kurt a embarrassed little smirk. 

“That’s…” Kurt falters, stumbling for an answer. He’s forgotten about Blaine’s easy generosity, how simple it is for him to offer things up. Blaine’s right: being inside the house will be better for the story. But to stay here, to not have a neutral place where he can compose his thoughts? “I…”

“The door locks, if you’re worried about your virtue.” Blaine says it lightly, making it funny, and it throws Kurt even more for a loop. He’s so much more knowing than he used to be. It’s been five years; there’s no reason Blaine wouldn’t have changed too, but it throws him, like reaching for a step that isn’t there. 

“No, of course not. I just wasn’t expecting it.” He relents: it’s a good idea, after all. “I… thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Hold on.” Blaine goes into his room and comes back again almost immediately. He hands Kurt a Michigan logo keychain with two keys on it. “There’s usually someone here, but just in case.”

Kurt’s stomach growls. “Great. I’ll bring my bag in. Where’s a good place for lunch?”

“We have food —“

“ _Blaine_.”

“Okay, sure. What are you in the mood for?”

Kurt shrugs. “Where do I need to go for the full Michigan experience?”

Blaine smiles again. “I know just the place. You’ll love it.”

He feels a little reckless as he asks “Will you join me?”

Now it’s Blaine’s turn to look unsure. “Uh. I…”

“You’re putting me up. It’s the least I can do, right?”

“It’s Marjorie’s room.” 

The answer is so lame the only response it deserves is a pointed look.

“Well,” Blaine finally says. “I guess we should catch up. I have till three.”

Kurt tosses him the car keys as he puts his new set of house keys away. “Good,” he says. “You’re driving.”


	7. Gift

Blaine tells him that it’s like a real New York deli, but of course it’s not. The smell, though: it smells like a real deli, but mixed with the rarefied scents of a food palace like Dean & DeLuca, the sort of place he goes to admire the wares, not to purchase them. There’s a bread counter with loaves stacked up in cubbies, and a long cheese counter behind glass, and shelves and shelves of all sorts of things Kurt’s mostly read about, or seen in gift baskets. He can’t help gawking a little. Blaine notices and gives him a smirk. “Let’s look around. We have time.”

The girl working behind the bread counter twirls her hair around her finger when she sees them coming. “Hi, Blaine.”

“Hi, Marcy. This is my friend Kurt, he’s visiting. What should he try?” And Marcy gives them a sample of a raisin pecan bread that’s practically a meal in itself, and a chocolate sourdough that Kurt’s ready to marry on the spot. Blaine smiles sunnily at her in thanks.

“I’m coming to your show tonight, Blaine. Break a leg,” she says. Kurt wonders if she knows he’s gay. 

Another employee breezes by, a tall guy. He and Blaine fist-bump and he never breaks his stride.

At the cheese counter, there’s a boy with round glasses and floppy brown hair. “Hey, Blaine.” His voice is full of insinuation. 

“Tom.” Blaine draws out the name like he’s enjoying it. There’s a history there for sure. It’s weird watching your ex flirt with someone else. “Anything interesting today?”

“Just the comté. And I  _know_  how you hate that.”

“Oh, it’s the worst,” Blaine grins, and Kurt was wrong, it’s not weird to watch, it’s aggravating. Aggravating and a little gross.

They finally make it to the back to order their sandwiches and then they find their seats to wait. Blaine nods to someone else bussing tables as they pull their chairs in. 

“Do you know everyone here?”

Blaine frowns. “They hire a lot of students,” he says, like that’s an explanation. 

He’s surprised by it like it’s a new thing, this talent Blaine has for people. How he draws them in, makes them feel special. He likes everyone, and he makes people want to like him. It’s so effortless. It’s alien to Kurt, and he finds it compelling and incomprehensible in equal measures. 

“So,” Blaine says, folding a paper napkin onto his lap. “What’s up with you, Kurt? I know about Rachel’s shows, of course, and Santana keeps showing up on commercials — she’s going to give my brother a run for the money there. But what are you up to?”

Kurt shakes his head. “I’m writing for  _Vanity Fair_. That’s sort of the whole point of this exercise.”

“I meant, your work. Performing.”

“Oh. Well, I stayed at  _Vogue_ for about five years, until recently, when I decided I wanted to make a go of it as a freelancer. And I’ve really been focusing on my career there. Writing, editing. Making that work.”

“You’re not performing at all?” Blaine looks disappointed.

“I didn’t say that.” Kurt is embarrassed and angry in equal measure. “I’ve just chosen not to pursue a career in musical theater. I’m still singing. I’m even writing songs again.”

“You should write yourself a musical. I always said —”

“I’m not writing a musical.” Their sandwiches come right as Kurt’s about to snap, and he takes a moment to admire it, the reuben sandwich in the little plastic tray. Breathe in, breathe out. He’s not here to fight with Blaine, he’s here to write about him, and impress  _Vanity Fair_. He can do this. “I always knew the deck was stacked against me in the theater. It took going to NYADA to make me realize just how true that really is. I got tired of doors slamming in my face. I have other interests, so I followed them. I write. I sing. I have an open invite to gig at the Rockwood Music Hall.” One of his NYADA friends booked the Rockwood’s free stage. He’d only done it once, and it was dispiriting.  Most of the small crowd were there for the next band, and talked through his performance. He hadn’t even told Rachel about it.

“That’s amazing,” Blaine says, and seems to mean it. “That’s kind of why we started Supernova too, in a way. We wanted to perform together on our own terms. It’s been really nice, making art and not competing over it.”

“I suppose you were the only one who wanted to play Harry?”

Blaine shrugs. “It was a consensus decision. There are better voices: you saw the video, you know. But I’m a good front man, and I look the most like Daniel Radcliffe.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and swallows before he continues. “Andy’s the director, and I only co-wrote three of the songs. So it’s not a Blaine and the Pips situation.” 

It takes Kurt a second to place the reference. “You remember that?”

“Kind of a hard one to forget.” Blaine sounds amused, not angry. “You weren’t wrong, though. That’s something else I learned from McKinley. It’s so much better to be part of something special than to try to just be special on your own.”

“So, Supernova is like your new New Directions?” Kurt’s already thinking about how he’ll use this in the article.

Blaine considers this. “Sort of. Except with no faculty, and a lot less relationship drama.” 

“But there are couples in the group.”

“Sure. And a lot of hookups over the years too. We prioritize the group, though. It’s worked.”

Kurt considers this as he bites into his own sandwich. He won’t tell Blaine this, but it’s the best reuben he’s ever had, even in New York.  “It must be nice.”

“It really is,” Blaine says. “My friends… they make everything else worthwhile. I’m so lucky to have them. I’m so grateful that we’re on this weird ride together. And that you’re writing about it, that I’m sitting here in Zingerman’s getting to share this with the first boy I ever loved? It’s the cherry on top, Kurt. This whole show has been such an amazing gift.”

It’s the first time either of them have spoken so openly of their past, and it hits Kurt like a gut punch. It’s not hearing him use the past tense, or the way he says “first” — how many boys has Blaine loved, exactly? It’s only that it seems so easy for him to talk about it. Talking about who they were means talking about how they ended, and Kurt never talks about his awful first year in New York if he can help it. He never thinks about this man who’s sitting there smiling at him across the small dining table. He never should have taken this assignment.

“I’m glad,” he says, and he tries to smile. “I’m happy to be here too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Zingerman's Delicatessen](http://www.zingermansdeli.com/) has been an Ann Arbor, MI, institution since 1982. Their [mail order business](http://www.zingermans.com/) is really good for your tastebuds, but bad for your wallet.


	8. Human

Kurt drops Blaine off at the theater for his final run-through, and then it’s back to being a journalist again. He drives over to the Communications building and he interviews two of the professors there, one who’s helped the Novas and one who has wordy theories about social media. He stops a couple of kids looking at a poster for  _A Boy and His School_  and asks them what they think of the show. One hasn’t heard of it before and was drawn in by the poster; the other two admit eventually to being fans. “The guy who plays Ron is super-cute,” says a blonde girl with a thick Chicago accent. Kurt doesn’t ask her what she thinks of Harry. 

He walks around the main campus — brick and limestone buildings clustered around an expansive lawn — soaking in the atmosphere. It’s overcast and a little chilly, and half the students are in Carhartt jackets and trucker caps. It’s like Lima except in all the ways it’s not. He calls Lucas on his way back to the car.

“Enjoying your return to the Rust Belt?” Lucas asks. Kurt can hear the sounds of the cafe where Lucas goes to write in the background.

“It’s going well,” he says. “The town’s nice.”

“And Blaine?”

“That’s all fine. I’m going to do an in-depth with all of them tomorrow, if they survive the after-party.”

“You should do some individual interviews as well,” Lucas says.

“I’m planning to.”

“And interviews with faculty members; you’ll want to make sure you have a range of perspectives.”

“Just finished that.”

“And some man-on-the-street stuff. Kids on campus.” 

“Lucas…”

“And, this is important, take photos of everywhere you go, so you can describe them later if you need to.”

“I know how to do my damn job.”

They’re both silent after that. Kurt walks through a brick and stone archway and tries to smile at the girl there handing out fliers.

“It’s your first long profile, Kurt.”

“I know.”

“I know you can write about fashion, but it’s a very different thing from real long-form journalism.” 

Kurt’s back clenches up with the retorts he’s holding back.

“I just want to look out for you, baby. You’re too good to let yourself mess this up.”

Kurt shakes his head. “And you’re so sure that’s going to happen?”

“I didn’t say that.” Lucas sounds so calm and steady. Kurt usually likes that about him, but it’s infuriating now.

“Well, that’s a sterling vote of confidence. Thanks so much.”

“Don’t put this on me, babe.”

Kurt’s about half a minute away from exploding with rage. “I’m putting this… ? You know what, we’re not having this conversation right now.”

“Wow,” Lucas says after a pause. “This is a side of you I’ve never seen before.”

“Enjoy it,” Kurt says, and hangs up. 

He gets back in the car and straps himself in with the seatbelt maybe a little too firmly. Lucas may enjoy giving advice a little too much, but they’ve been dating for five months and it’s never bothered Kurt before. Right now, though, he can’t handle it: he wants Lucas’s encouragement and support, not his explanations and lessons. But maybe that’s not Lucas’s way. Kurt puts the thought aside to worry about some other day. 

He turns on the radio and pulls out into traffic. It’s nearing rush hour, so the roads are getting busier, but there’s still nothing even vaguely resembling New York traffic. He’s got time, and he needs silence, so he drives. He drives wherever the road takes him, letting himself get lost. He drives past apartment complexes and parks and office buildings, past student dorms and classroom buildings. Spring isn’t here yet, but there are hints of it in the occasional budding tree branch or tulip. He drives and he takes it in until the anger has started to recede, and he’s starting to feel human again.


	9. Ice

When he gets back to the house, Kurt showers and shaves and changes for the show. “The theater is our temple,” one of his acting professors liked to say. “Dare we profane it with our disrespect?” Kurt’s not much of a man for the sacred, but it’s not like he’s ever needed an excuse to dress up, either. He gives himself one more spritz of hairspray before he goes.

The theater’s near the heart of what passes for downtown Ann Arbor: an old-style movie palace saved and renovated by the city. It’s beautiful. There’s a high-ceilinged lobby full of people and noise, and when he gets to his seat, his eyes are drawn up to the intricate panels on the ceiling, the ornamentation on the balcony, and the fretwork on the false windows high above the seats.

“New in town?” says the woman sitting next to him, and he realizes he’s gawking.

“Oh, I’m visiting. Here to see the show.” 

She’s a familiar Midwestern type: middle-aged, friendly, a little plump. Her blonde hair is cut for maximum ease of care, not style. She reminds him a little of Carole, back when she and his dad first started dating. “Well, that’s nice,” she smiles. “Seems like there’s quite a few folks from out of town for this show. Can I ask you a few questions? Sarah Conroy,  _Ann Arbor Observer.”_

“Um. I’m a writer too.” He feels a little shaky about asserting it after the fight he had with Lucas, but once the words are out, they feel comfortable. Right. “Not for a newspaper. I’m doing a piece about viral video.”

“Well,” she says, “I guess this is the press row. Nice to meet you — I’m sorry, your name was?”

He’s forgotten all his Midwestern manners, the way you have to talk for a few minutes before you get to actually say anything, so he stumbles through a few more minutes of polite chatter. Finally she takes pity on him and starts interviewing two guys in Hogwarts robes seated in the row behind them. The theater’s pretty large — Blaine had said fifteen hundred seats — and it’s mostly full, though not sold out. There’s a buzz of anticipation in the crowd, and Kurt finds he’s sort of excited to see the show too.

The lights go down and the music begins. The show was written and blocked out for a much smaller stage, and it shows, but Kurt eventually manages to let go of his professional’s perspective and just enjoy the thing. It’s sweet: written with love for the book, but not without a sense of humor about it, either. Kara, the Asian woman who’d looked so skeptically at him back at the house, is an effectively imposing Professor McGonagall, and Josh in a red wig makes a funny, loose-limbed Ron. They’ve got enough fans in the audience that every song is greeted with applause, and the dumb “stop Snitching” running joke gets a far bigger laugh than it deserves. 

And of course there’s Blaine. Someone has taken a flattening iron to his hair and it hangs over the painted-on lightning scar. He’s great as Harry, of course he is: charmingly naive, effortlessly charismatic, brave and loyal and true. Blaine’s a much better performer now than he was in high school, even if the material isn’t of  _West Side Story’s_  caliber. Kurt can’t help feeling proud of him.

Near the end of the first act, Harry finds the Mirror of Erised: a group of the other Novas stand behind a giant frame waving at Harry, pretending to be his family. Kurt smiles sadly, thinking back to when he’d read the books as a kid. His mom’s loss was new then, and he would look into the big mirror by the front door of their house, willing it to show her to him. Then Dumbledore — a guy Kurt doesn’t recognize behind the fake beard — comes out, and he and Blaine sing a duet. 

_“My deepest, desperate heart’s desire,”_ Blaine sings as Harry, torn between his teacher and the family in the mirror.  _“Why shouldn’t I see it? Why shouldn’t I take it?”_

_“It does not do to dwell on dreams,”_  sings Dumbledore,  _“the ones that can’t come true.”_

Kurt’s chest goes tight and he starts crying. Dumbledore and Blaine’s voices blend so beautifully, harmony and counterpoint, and Kurt can’t stop the tears. It’s so sad, and so beautiful. And Blaine is so beautiful, meant for the stage. He’s in the spotlight, the way he was always meant to be, but he’s there with his new friends, in a show they made for each other, and the audience is eating it up. Kurt cries and cries, and once he starts it’s like an iceberg breaking up inside him: he can’t stop. 

On stage, one of the kids behind the mirror frame throws Dumbledore a pair of socks. The song ends. Sarah Conroy passes him a tissue, and she smiles at him a little sadly. He takes a deep breath, and hopes that he has time to come back to himself before the lights come up for intermission.


	10. Jigsaw

The afterparty is back at Blaine’s house. The Supernovas are already giddy with success before the booze starts flowing: a great performance, and a standing ovation, and their videographer is pretty happy with what he got as well. The whole cast is there, the ones he’s already met and the ones he hasn’t, and the crowd of their friends and admirers is filling the first floor and spilling out onto the porch. There’s loud music in the living room, and people have already moved the furniture back so they can dance. Blaine’s in the middle of it all: hugging, kissing, slapping people on the back and laughing. 

Kurt gets a beer from the kitchen and finds a spot to watch from. Kurt’s parties lately have all been work-related: book parties and fashion industry cocktail hours. They can be fun: a good quip to the right person, and you have a quote or a contact or even an invitation to pitch stories. But he hasn’t been to a party this uninhibited in a while.

Blaine finds him early on. He accepts Kurt’s congratulations with a wide grin, and introduces him to Marjorie, whose room he’s staying in. Marjorie had played several of the minor female roles, and Kurt gets into a good conversation with her about delineating the characters effectively. It’s nice to talk shop without it feeling competitive. Marjorie’s boyfriend joins them, and then others, and over the course of the night the group shifts and grows and shrinks in turn. Eventually, Kurt’s by himself again. It’s okay, though. He’s understanding something of how the group works, watching them have fun together.  

He runs into Blaine again at the beers. Blaine’s eyes are bright and his grin’s a little sloppy. “Kurt! Kurt. Are you having fun?”

“I am, thanks.” Kurt finds a bottle of water and passes it to Blaine. “And you?”

Blaine drinks half the water in one long gulp. “It’s amazing. And the show. All those people! You know, Kurt, our first musical together was a total flop. No one came. And it wasn’t even that much worse than this one. Although it wasn’t better, for sure.”

“I guess it helps to have a hook,” Kurt says.

“It does,” Blaine says earnestly. “But people could have just as easily thought it was lame, or disrespectful or something. Or maybe no one would have ever seen it or liked it on YouTube, and we could’ve had just those first three shows and that’s it. Did I tell you we’re doing it at a Harry Potter convention this summer? Paid hotel rooms and everything.”

“Wow.” It is kind of impressive, actually. Kurt imagines Blaine and his friends traveling the country, performing for eager Harry Potter fans. There are certainly some weird ways to make a living in show business. 

Blaine gets them both another beer and they lean against the kitchen counter for a moment, watching the crowd. 

“What would you have done?” Kurt asks. When Blaine frowns in confusion, he adds. “If no one had liked this show. Or seen it.”

“Oh.” Blaine considers this. “Written another one, I guess. You’ve got to keep going.” He says it like it’s the only answer.

“Blaine!” comes a holler from across the room. “Piano time!”

“Excuse me,” Blaine grins. “I’m needed elsewhere.”

Kurt watches him go.  _You’ve got to keep going_. Blaine always makes everything seem so simple. Maybe it is that simple. Maybe he’s the one making it hard.

Blaine plays the piano for a few songs, and then Josh takes a turn, and then it’s getting late enough that people are starting to head home. Kurt helps with the cleanup as much as he can wearing a couture suit, gingerly picking up plastic cups and putting them in giant contractor trash bags, and then he’s ready for bed. He climbs the stairs slowly, feeling the length of the day and the emotional roller coaster that he’s been on.

When he gets there, Blaine’s bedroom door is open, and Blaine is there, whistling one of the songs from the show as he moves around his room. He sees Kurt and he comes to the doorway with a soft smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” 

“Did you have fun tonight?”

“Yes,” Kurt says. He’s surprised how much he means it. “I did.”

Blaine looks delighted. “That’s good,” he says. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Kurt says.

There’s a long silence while they just look at each other. And then Blaine does what he always does: he makes it easier. “Come here, you.”

Kurt doesn’t think, he just goes. Blaine takes him by the tie and pulls him into a kiss. They still fit together so sweetly, like pieces of a puzzle interlocking, and it’s easy to kiss him, so easy. Kurt closes the door behind him as they stumble towards Blaine’s bed.

 


	11. Key

The first time they had sex, it was over embarrassingly fast. Kurt came practically as soon as Blaine touched his erection. He hid his face in the pillow, overwhelmed by how good it had felt and how ashamed he was at not lasting longer. Blaine touched his chin and urged him up until their eyes met again. “Hey,” Blaine said. “Practice makes perfect, right?” Blaine had always known the right thing to say.

Just like he knows the right thing to say now. “Fuck me,” he says, and it’s not weighted down with anything other than desire. “Kurt, I want you to fuck me. Would that be okay?”

Kurt can’t imagine how anything could be better. “Yeah. Okay. You have condoms?”

Blaine sits down on the bed and opens up the drawer in his nightstand. He’s got a drawer organizer that holds condoms, lube, and a few toys, each in their own compartment. Kurt’s briefly distracted by the possibilities, until he remembers what’s on the agenda. Right. He takes off his suit and tie, carefully folding them onto Blaine’s chair, and comes back to bed in his undershirt and boxers. Blaine’s already lying there naked. He’s stroking himself lazily, but he stops when Kurt sits down next to him. “You kind of need to take them all off.”

“Oh.” Kurt wants to sink through the floor with embarrassment. “You — I’m sorry. I remembered, you used to like to finish undressing me.”

Blaine’s face contorts with the memory, and it’s the first time all day that he’s really seemed vulnerable. “Kurt.” He sounds nostalgic and fond and maybe even a little sad. “Kurt, thank you. That’s… I’m glad you remember that. But let’s… can we not…”

“No, of course. This isn’t…”

“No. It’s not.” The mood is almost ruined. But then Blaine gives him a slow smile, confident again. “In fact.”

“What?”

“Why don’t we play a little game?” His voice has gone low and confidential. “Maybe we just met in a club, or we got set up on a blind date. The point is, we don’t know each other, not really. I’ve never seen you naked before, and you certainly don’t have my house keys. I’m just some beautiful stranger, and you want to impress me with how good you are in bed. With your expertise. We’ve never fucked before, we’ve never even met before today, and you want to show off for me a little. Make me scream. What do you say?”

The fantasy is so hot Kurt can barely breathe. “Yes. I’d — yes. But you have to play too. Show me what you’ve got.”

“Oh, I will.” Blaine lets his legs fall open, and his hand goes back to his cock. “You’d better get ready to take notes.”

Of course, Kurt has seen Blaine naked before, and he’s not above using his knowledge of Blaine’s body to his advantage. He’s kissing and licking and biting at all the right places, and he’s got Blaine pretty worked up by the time he takes him in his mouth. Blaine’s making delicious noises of pleasure and surprise, and Kurt wants to show him just how good he’s gotten at giving head.

“Ungh, ah, Kurt, wait.” Blaine’s voice has gone thready and soft. “I don’t think I can come twice tonight. Please.”

Kurt pulls off him slowly, making sure his tongue is letting Blaine know everything he’s passing up. Then he tugs at Blaine’s hipbone, gentle but insistent. “Turn over?” 

Blaine goes eagerly, and Kurt kisses the sweaty skin at the base of his spine, nuzzles against the vertebrae, as he slides the first finger in. Steve, the guy he’d dated his last year at NYADA, had taken him to a prostate massage workshop at Babes in Toyland. As embarrassing as it was to get lectured to about ‘prostate pleasure’ by a middle-aged muscle queen, in the end he and Steve had both found the experience educational. Blaine’s making noises that suggests he likes what Kurt learned there as well. By the time Kurt’s up to the third finger, Blaine’s rocking back into it, fucking himself on Kurt’s hand. 

As Kurt pulls back to get the condom on, Blaine rolls over onto his back again. He looks blissed out and eager all at once. “I want to see this,” he says.

“Watch and learn,” Kurt says. Blaine smiles.

When he’s moving inside Blaine, surrounded by him, with Blaine’s legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him down, he leans over to whisper in Blaine’s ear. He wants to make this last, but he wants them to have Blaine’s fantasy, too. 

“I knew you’d be good at this,” he says. “I saw you at that club, and I knew. I had to have you.”

Blaine laughs, a little puff of surprise, and then pulls him closer to suck a kiss on his neck. “Everyone there was watching you, Kurt,” he says. “All those boys wanted you. I was hoping you’d notice me.” 

“The way you danced? God. It was like sex.” The fantasy is so vivid, Kurt can almost see it: a half-dressed Blaine grinding enthusiastically against some guy on a dance floor. “I wanted to fuck you then and there.”

“You should have,” Blaine pants. His eyes are fluttering shut, and his hand is on his dick again. “Oh, you should — _Kurt_.”

“No,” Kurt says. He shifts forward, thrusting harder, and Blaine’s so close, he can tell. “I’m taking my time with you.”

Blaine comes with a shudder, and Kurt follows him over soon after. It takes them both a while before they’re ready to pull apart. Kurt throws out the condom and Blaine pulls some wipes out of his supplies drawer to clean them up. Kurt thinks he should volunteer to leave, but he’s so warm, and Blaine’s bed is big and comfortable, and Blaine isn’t pushing him out the door. He sighs and rolls over onto his side. “You didn’t scream.”

“Hmmm?”

“You said you wanted me to make you scream, and I didn’t.”

Blaine laughs. “If I actually screamed, half the house would be breaking in here with fire axes. You were great, Kurt. Stop fishing for compliments.”

“I was?” Kurt’s ridiculously happy to hear it.

“You were.” Blaine’s half-asleep already when he pulls Kurt’s arm across his chest. “Practice makes perfect.”

 


	12. Loft

When Kurt’s waking up from a deep sleep, he gets — disoriented isn’t the right word for it, really. More like _unstuck in time._ Like right now, for instance. He knows it’s not true, but his mind is telling him that he’s back in the house where he grew up. The house that his dad sold after he and Carole got married. He hasn’t been there in years, but  his mind is convinced that all he’d have to do would be to open the door and it would all be there: the stairs up from his basement bedroom, the old plaid couch, his dad drinking coffee in the kitchen.

But he’s not there, and on some rational level he knows it. This isn’t Lima at all. The high-loft down comforter he’s still drowsing under isn’t one he ever had back then. And he’d never, ever slept in that house spooned up against another boy, not even — 

 _Blaine_. The realization jolts him into full wakefulness. That’s Blaine he’s wrapped around, not Lucas. True, he and Lucas have never said they’re exclusive, but it’s been five months and they haven’t said they aren’t exclusive either. He’s going to have to tell Lucas about this.

He’s still lying there freaking out when he hears heavy footsteps on the loose hall floorboards. “Blaine!” a man shouts, and the bedroom door swings open. “Oh.”

In his arms, Blaine stirs blearily awake.

“Hey.” It’s Andy, the Supernova’s stage director. He’s a tall gangly guy, and from this angle it’s kind of like he’s looming. “Jill’s making pancakes. Didn’t want you to sleep through it.” His gaze flicks over to Kurt. “There’s enough for him too, probably.” 

“Thanks,” Blaine manages.

Andy leaves as abruptly as he came in. In the hallway, Kurt can hear him shout “Guys! Guys, Josh wins the bet!” He feels nauseated.

Blaine sighs indulgently. “Those guys.” He throws off the comforter and pads over to his dresser for some clean clothes. “You should go get changed, Kurt. Jill makes these really great multi-grain pancakes with vanilla bean. They’re amazing, and you can sort of pretend they’re good for you.”

Kurt’s amazed at how calm he is. “Blaine? You’re… okay?”

“Of course I am. Are you — are you not?”

Kurt doesn’t think he can tell Blaine about Lucas, not yet. He should say something to Lucas first, shouldn’t he? “No. I’m fine. I just thought, with everything… I thought I should check.”

Blaine shrugs. “Thanks? I mean, it was fun. But you’re there, and I’m here. At least for the next few months, and I don’t know what comes after that. We’re talking about all moving somewhere together maybe, making the troupe a real thing. So I wouldn’t want to put too much weight on this, what happened. I’m glad it did, but…”

“Yeah, no. Me too.” Kurt thinks he should feel more relieved than he does, but the weight of last night is still heavy in his chest.

“Cool.” Blaine has already slipped into a polo and jeans. “I’m going to go use the bathroom. I’ll see you downstairs.” 

When he’s gone, Kurt falls back onto the bed with a sigh. The down comforter falls lightly on top of him. It’s going to be another long day.

 


	13. Message

By the time Kurt makes it down to the kitchen, there are no more pancakes being made. Blaine’s saved him a plate, though. He gets some coffee and slides into a chair.

The pancakes really are good, and Kurt’s wolfing them down. Josh stands up and very pointedly looks at his watch. 

“I should get going,” Josh says. “Class.”

Kurt frowns. “I thought we were doing the full group interview this morning.”

Josh gives a big shrug. “I can’t.”

“Me either,” says Jill.

A tension headache spikes behind Kurt’s eyes. “Okay. Okay, well, I guess we can reschedule for tomorrow. That could be better: the photographer will be here —”

“Tomorrow kind of sucks for me too,” Josh says.

“Guys,” Blaine says pointedly. “Enough.”

Blaine’s friends give him looks that range from hangdog to annoyed. They all look embarrassed, though. “Fine,” Josh mutters. “I can make time tomorrow.”

“And we’re on for an individual interview later?” Kurt asks.

“Yeah.” Josh sighs. “Two-thirty. I’ll see you then.”

The group interview was supposed to go until eleven, and then Kurt has half an hour with each of the original Novas. None of the interviews go well, except the one with Blaine. Andy shoots him grim looks and doles out each answer like it’s painful. Jill responds to everything in a monotone. By the time Kara’s sitting across from him, clearly seething, Kurt’s just about had it.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine. I get the message. You don’t like me. But this article could do really good things for your future. Could you at least pretend to cooperate with it?” 

Kara snorts at him disgustedly. “Right. And in two weeks Blaine’ll get a phone call that the article has been canceled and oh isn’t that a pity. So why should I take it seriously now?”

“You — you think I’m making this up? That’s —“ Kurt can’t even wrap his mind around it. “Do you want to call my editor?”

“Do you want me to call him? Let him know what you’ve been up to?”

“ _Her_ ,” Kurt corrects, a little meanly. “And her boss was excited about the personal history angle.”

“History!” she says, and she shakes her head.

Kurt leans forward. “Look,” he says. “Maybe you’ve got some sort of tragic fag-hag crush on Blaine, and I’m sorry about that, I am, but that’s no reason for you to torpedo his future as well as yours here.”

She fixes him with a dangerous glare. “First of all, fuck you for thinking you know me, mister. Second, I’m a great big lesbian, so fuck you again for making assumptions. And third, Blaine’s going to be the one who torpedoes his own future if he keeps hanging out with you.”

“I have never, ever wanted anything other than happiness and success for him,” Kurt says evenly, and if he’s ignoring some fairly elaborate fantasies he’d had after their breakup, it’s hardly relevant now. 

Kara scoffs and turns away. “Pizza jar Kurt. Did he tell you why we called you that?”

“Freshman year breakups. And your RA named Curt. Yes.”

“That’s not… Curt was, like, a non-issue. That wasn’t the reason.” She turns to face him. “The pizza jar was a pretty good idea, you know? It helped the people who’d broken up not dwell on it, and it meant that those of us who didn’t even get to kiss a girl until college didn’t get totally alienated. It made being broken up kind of a community activity. But it didn’t take into account that some people in the group might have parents who thought money was a good substitute for, like, any actual feelings.”

Kurt has never heard the Andersons described so efficiently. He frowns. “He monopolized the discussion?”

She looks disgusted he could even think that. “No, of course he didn’t. Blaine was completely supportive. He only ever put a dollar in when he was, like, sympathizing with one of the girls or shit. And then came Christmas.”

“What about Christmas?” That would have been his second Christmas in New York, the first without Finn. He’d spent the actual day with just his folks and Carole’s family, but later that week Jack, who he’d been dating for a few months, came to visit him in Lima. He doesn’t remember seeing Blaine at all.

“The New Year’s Eve party at your friend Mark’s house?”

Kurt’s puzzled by this until “Oh. You mean Mike. Mike Chang.”

“Whatever. You brought a date.”

Kurt furrows his brow, trying to remember it. Yes, he’d brought Jack to the party with him: at the time, they’d been pretty serious. They’d danced together, and kissed at midnight, and his Lima friends were all as nice about it as he could’ve hoped they would be, under the circumstances. “Blaine wasn’t there.”

“The fuck he wasn’t. He just left early. After seeing you stick your tongue down your date’s throat.”

Kurt’s taken aback. He doesn’t remember any of this — not the public display, not Blaine. Though maybe he’d wanted Blaine to know? It wasn’t like he and Jack had done a lot of making out at NYADA parties. 

“So school here starts on like the third of January, it’s ridiculous. And we’re all hanging out in Andy and Tim’s room, the way we used to, and Blaine comes with those big baby-seal eyes he gets? And he takes out a hundred dollar bill, shows it to us, and he puts it in the pizza jar. ‘Payment in advance,’ he says.” Kara’s eyes are wet and bright. “He’d still been hoping, somewhere in his stupid heart of hearts, that the two of you would work it out, and seeing you with your little boytoy made him realize that you wouldn’t. And it just crushed him.” She smooths her jeans against her legs, looking down as she calms herself. “We put a lot of effort into getting him through that. Me and everyone else here. I ate so much fucking pizza — I didn’t even know you could get sick of it, but you can. So excuse us if we’re a little protective of him now. Given your track record…”

Kurt can barely breathe. “He broke my heart, Kara,” he says. “He broke my heart.”

“Broke his own, too,” she says. 

They just stare at each other for a few breaths. 

“Look,” she finally says. “You didn’t ruin him or anything. It’s not like he’s been locked up in a garrett pining away for you or some stupid shit like that. But the two of you, I can’t help thinking that’s going to be big trouble. And you’re not thinking any more clearly about it than he is.” She stands up. “And that’s our half-hour. I’ve got to go.”

 

 


	14. Neon

The Supernova team is having a meeting over dinner, and they’d told him even before he got there that they needed it to be private. So he drives around town, a little aimless, ignoring the dinner options he’d so carefully researched on Yelp. 

Finally he finds a diner with a neon sign out front, and he goes inside with a sensation not unlike relief. At least at a diner, you always know what you’re getting. He orders a cheeseburger, onion rings, and a salad, and starts going through his email to catch up. There’s Sarah, his editor, checking in to see how it’s going, and John, the photographer, confirming the time: Kurt emails them both quickly. There’s a note from Rachel about her next cabaret night; he marks that one as unread so he’ll remember to buy tickets. And there’s a short email from Lucas: _Hope you’re feeling better today. Call me if you want to talk._  

He goes over his notes while he eats, marking key places. He can see the story starting to come together in his head, even with all the distractions: the combination of luck and determination and talent that had gotten Supernova noticed, and what it offers as an example to the next generation of would-be Internet stars. There are so many more paths to success now — so many different things that you could call success — than there’d been even when he started at NYADA. Certainly more than anyone at NYADA was comfortable admitting. It makes Kurt hopeful in ways he can’t really define. 

He eats dinner so quickly it’s still too early to go back when he’s done. He goes and sits in the car instead. The blue of the neon sign turns the car’s interior oceanic.

He texts Lucas back. _I’m okay. Are you busy?_

_On deadline,_ comes the almost immediate reply. _Talk tmw?_

Kurt isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or not. He sits and lets the blue light wash over him while he thinks about his next step. Which is, when he finally realizes it, a pretty obvious one.

“Hey, kiddo,” says his dad. He’s chewing something while he talks; Kurt must’ve called during dinner.

“Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all. Carole’s out so it’s just me and the TV tonight. What’s up?” 

“Dad.” And he doesn’t quite know how to ask what he needs to ask about. “If Mom came back, now —”

“I don’t think about stuff like that,” his father says firmly. 

“But what if,” Kurt presses. “If she wasn’t dead. Maybe she just went off somewhere to find herself or something, I don’t know. And she came back —”

“She wouldn’t be your mother if she’d done that.”

“I know, but work with me, okay?” Kurt wishes he could take his dad to an improv class: a little _yes-and_ would do wonders for this conversation.

“One thing I learned from politics: don’t argue hypotheticals. What’s this about, Kurt?” 

“If you had to choose,” Kurt insists.

“If I had to choose,” his dad says slowly, “I never would have left your mother, so it wouldn’t be a choice at all.”

Kurt can feel the tears welling hot behind his eyes. “And what if she left you?”

“She never would have done that. Not on purpose.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says finally. He doesn’t remember much about his mother, but he remembers in his bones how completely she loved him. Loved them both.

“Something you want to talk about, buddy?”

“That’s okay. Will you be home tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night? Sure. You want to make a plan?”

“Yeah.” It’s only two hours from Ann Arbor to Lima, so Kurt built an extra day into his travel plans. He’d wanted to surprise his dad, but now he needs to know he’ll be there waiting when Kurt drives up. “I’ll call you around seven?”

“Okay,” says his dad. “We’ll talk then. I love you, Kurt.”

“Love you too, Dad.” At least he has one person it’s easy to say that to.


	15. Overture

Back at the house, the Supernova team meeting is over, and all the kitchen is empty and clean. Kurt follows the sound of voices and music back to the living room again. Everyone’s there, sprawled out on the floor and the couches. 

“Hey, Kurt.” Kara’s saved him a seat, pointedly far away from where Blaine is. Kurt takes the hint and joins her.

Blaine must have spoken to the team over dinner, because everyone seems more welcoming: Tim makes a point of catching his eye and nodding, even. It’s not much of an overture, but Kurt’s a little more optimistic about how the rest of this trip will go.

They’re playing a round-robin game: one of them chooses a song for another one to do, and then that person chooses next. At NYADA, this would’ve been a battle, like Midnight Madness, or an excuse to highlight your classmates’ weaknesses, but there’s none of that visible here: they’re enjoying each other’s performances. Andy accompanies himself on piano for a tolerable rendition of Harry Nilsson’s “Don’t Forget Me,” and he tosses it to Marjorie, asking for a song Kurt doesn’t recognize. She’s got a great voice, though, so it doesn’t matter. When she’s done, she says, “Blaine, to sing ‘Between the Bars.’”

Blaine smiles and then frowns. “I only really know the first verse. Will you settle for another Elliott Smith song?” She makes a show of thinking about it before she nods yes, and he looks so happy as he settles the guitar on his lap. “Come sit with me, Marj. If you’re only going to listen to music from your dad’s CD collection, you need to give me a little help here.”

“Fuck you,” she says without heat, and the people sharing the couch with Blaine shift to make room for her. He clears his throat and begins.

From the first _thum-thum_ of Blaine’s thumb against the low E string, Kurt recognizes the song. Jack taught it to him when he was first learning to play the guitar. _I’m in love with the world through the eyes of a girl who’s still around the morning after._ Blaine’s singing it right to Marjorie, and she’s delighted by it, of course she is: Kurt remembers what it’s like to have Blaine sing to you. 

Kurt can’t watch that for very long, so he lets himself scan the room. _It’s always been wait and see, a happy day and then you pay._ Blaine’s friends are all rapt, watching him sing, watching him perform. He’s always his most charming self on the stage. _Now I feel changed around, and instead of falling down, I’m standing up the morning after._ The warmth in the room, the affection, reminds him of the best of New Directions: those special occasions when they sang together in the choir room or the auditorium for nothing more than the joy of it, and it felt like anything could happen. Kurt has missed those days, but he’s never thought he could find something like that again. Here, it just seems to happen around Blaine. It’s easy for Kurt to hate him for it, just a little.

Blaine gestures for Marjorie to come in on harmony for the second bridge, and she leans against him, shoulder to shoulder. _Crooked spin can’t come to rest, I’m damaged bad at best, she’ll decide what she wants._ Blaine looks up and catches Kurt’s eye just for a moment. _See how it is — they want you or they don’t, say yes._ At the end, everyone applauds, Kurt included. Kara whistles.

“Thank you, thank you,” Blaine says. “And for our next victim, I pick… Kurt Hummel, to sing one of his original compositions.”

Kurt swallows hard.

“You write music?” says Jill.

“Um.” There’s a cold pit in Kurt’s stomach, and his mouth is dry.

“Kurt’s journalism work is just a way to finance his career as a singer/songwriter,” Blaine tells them, and it’s not the truth, it’s so far from the truth Kurt could scream. But everyone’s looking at him now, happy and curious and intrigued. They’re passing him a guitar, and it doesn’t seem like he has a lot of choice in the matter. Blaine’s always pushed him into the spotlight. Even now, when he doesn’t want it. 

Kara punches him lightly on the arm. “Don’t fuck it up.” 

He’s testing the tuning when he realizes what he has to sing. Blaine won’t like it, but that’s kind of the point. “This song is called ‘Chelsea Boys,’” he says, and starts in on the intro. It’s a little derivative — a challenge to himself to see if he could write a song that would fit on one of Rufus Wainwright’s early albums — but it’s good, and it’s flirty, and it’s all about sex with strangers. 

_Chelsea boys all preening, primping_  
 _Buffed and polished, smooth to touch_  
 _Chelsea boys all taste like tempting_  
 _They won’t judge you very much_

Blaine smiles at that last line, but there’s a bruised look in his eyes. Kurt lowers his head to focus on the chord changes. By the third verse, the mood in the room has shifted, and no one is smiling anymore. Kurt knows he’s probably blowing up all the good work Blaine did for him while he was out at dinner. Right now, he can’t bring himself to care.

_I walk down these streets a free man_  
 _I take what I want with ease_  
 _Chelsea boys may come and find me_  
 _Take me sweetly to my knees_

It’s only when he’s playing through the bridge that the depth of his mistake hits him. He’s going to have to sing the last verse of this song in front of Blaine, the boy who inspired it. He plays it a little faster than he usually does, but there’s no getting around the lyric.

_I’ve tried being true and faithful_  
 _All the charms of love’s first kiss_  
 _Chelsea boys are much more restful_  
 _No one there I’ll have to miss_

He puts his hand on the guitar, stopping the sound as soon as he’s done. “Anyway,” he says. There’s a smattering of polite applause. Blaine’s eyes are still on him, still bruised but there’s something else there, a question neither of them has asked yet. 

“You had one job,” Kara mutters.

“It’s your turn to pick,” Tim eventually says.

“Right.” Kurt hands off the guitar. “Let’s say, uh, Josh. And you choose the song. I don’t know your voice enough.” 

Josh nods his thanks. When the guitar comes around to him, he tunes it again, and launches into a slow-downed, almost meditative version of Paramore’s “Still Into You,” which is either a weird rebuke to Kurt or the most thoughtless follow-up he could have come up with. Kurt feels obligated to stay for the whole song either way, since he chose Josh to sing, He sits there with a smile pasted on his face, not looking at Blaine at all. When Josh chooses Jill to sing a Tom Waits song, Kurt can finally make his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your reference, the real songs performed and not performed in this story section:
> 
> Neko Case’s cover of [“Don’t Forget Me,”](http://youtu.be/hCWhkP6ccZs) which Kurt doesn’t realize Andy is inspired by ;)
> 
> Elliott Smith, [“Between the Bars”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hPD-a1FjUtU) (and a lovely [cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=du0e3q4e5ok) from the Portland band Amelia)
> 
> Elliott Smith, [“Say Yes"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NcalJSO6jDY)
> 
> Paramore’s own [acoustic version of “Still Into You”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4f07Hf7V_s)
> 
> The Tom Waits song is meant to be [“Picture in a Frame,”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3pwxD8quPCg) (like the Eddie Vedder cover [here](http://youtu.be/Vk6aERKFs4c))


	16. Pulse/Quick

Kurt spends the next two hours blocking out the outline for his article. That’s how he writes: he has to see how the whole thing will fit together before he can worry about individual sentences. Isabelle is exactly the opposite: she’ll toss out final-copy aphorisms and figure out how they all fit together once she’s finished. When Kurt tried it that way, he got word salad.

Eventually, he hears footsteps, lots of them, on the stairs, and some head up towards the top floor. The squeak of the floorboards outside his door tell him that one set belongs to Blaine. He waits, silent, until Blaine’s bedroom door opens and closes again.

It’s another half an hour before the words start to swim on the screen in front of him. He closes the laptop, stretches and yawns, and gets ready for bed. When he goes to brush his teeth, he sees light coming through the bottom of the door to Blaine’s room. He stares at himself in the mirror, willing himself to be brave again.

Blaine takes forever to answer when he knocks on the door, long enough that Kurt’s half-decided he must be asleep already. His hair is damp from the shower, and he’s in a pair of pajamas with the Michigan logo embroidered on the shirt pocket. He looks wary. “Hi.”

“Hi,” says Kurt. “Maybe we should talk. Can I come in?”

Blaine opens the door wide, and Kurt comes in. He takes the chair at Blaine’s desk: Blaine sits on the edge of his bed, waiting patiently.

Kurt’s trying to figure out what to say first and how to say it. “I have a boyfriend.” He knows as soon as he’s said it that it’s the wrong choice.

Blaine looks shocked. “You didn’t mention that.”

“I know.”

“Last night, I would never — I wouldn’t have.”

“I know.” And he does know, although a small mean part of him is shouting about how Blaine absolutely would, and did, once. But Blaine’s shock at the news is real too. “I should have said.”

“He’s a good guy?” Blaine asks. Kurt can see what it’s costing him to stay so nonchalant.

Kurt shrugs. “He’s kind of a douche.”

Blaine laughs. “Kurt!”

“I mean, sure, yes, he’s a good guy, as long as you agree with him, or look up to him. And I did, for a while. When we met, I was just starting to place pieces outside of fashion magazines, and he’s a pretty established writer: he’s taught me a lot. But that’s not much to build a relationship on.”

Blaine nods, taking this in. “And is he why you went full-time as a freelancer?”

“No.” Being honest is kind of intoxicating. “I got laid off last month.”

Blaine’s eyes get even wider. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet; he’s had this article, and seeing Blaine again, to distract him. Saying it out loud makes it seem realer and less real all at once.

“Well, maybe you can look at this as an opportunity.” Blaine Anderson, eternal optimist. “It’s a chance to focus more on your music again.”

“Stop, please. Okay? I don’t need your encouragement.”

“Kurt,” Blaine leans forward, intent and grave. “What happened to you?”

“What?”

“The Kurt I knew loved the stage. He loved musical theater. He loved the spotlight. I always knew the only thing you loved more than me was a solo. And Alexander McQueen, of course, but he was already dead when we met.”

Every time Blaine talks about their past, it’s like Kurt’s back there, so stupidly in love that he thought nothing could ever go wrong. He would have traded the entire oeuvre of Stephen Sondheim for a lifetime with Blaine, no question.

“And now you’re giving all that up, for what? To write about other people making music? Not that you’re not a great writer, but… You didn’t even want to sing tonight, when people wanted to hear it.”

“That was obvious, huh.”

“It was some grade-A lashing out, yeah.”

Kurt can feel his face going red. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind. My friends all think you’re an asshole now, which means they’re questioning my taste and every story I ever told them about high school. I told them you only act like an asshole when you feel threatened. But Kurt, the idea that music, singing would make you feel threatened… I don’t understand.”

Kurt stands up and paces the small room. “Of course you don’t understand. People always love you. You don’t have to face all those doors slamming in your face, over and over.”

“But Kurt…” Blaine gets up and stands right in his path, stopping him from pacing. “That hasn’t changed. We always knew it would be hard. You used to talk about overcoming that, about blazing your own path.”

Kurt can barely look at him. “I guess I got tired of losing.”

“Oh.” Blaine takes his hand, holding it lightly.

They stand like that for a moment, the weight of the years they haven’t spoken between them.

“When you went to New York,” Blaine says, his voice not quite steady, “I was so terrified. I was certain you would get caught up in your glamorous new life, with everything you’d ever worked for, and I wouldn’t be anything but the boring bland kid you left behind. I was so scared I was going to lose you.” He swallows so hard that Kurt can hear it. “So, you know. I made sure that happened. Got it over with quick.”

It’s not as hard to hear as he would’ve thought. But it is hard to see how Blaine still aches from it. “Blaine…”

“But it wasn’t the end of the world.” Blaine meets his eyes, determined. “It maybe felt like that for a little while, but it wasn’t. I came here. I found a whole new community of friends. I made art. I kept going. And now look. I have this whole great life, and I’m graduating in May, and you and me — we’re friends again, right?” His confidence wobbles at that last question. It’s piercing to see.

Kurt’s acting on instinct when he takes Blaine in his arms and holds him tight, but it’s all he knows how to do. Words aren’t enough, for once. Blaine takes a deep breath against him then lets it go, shuddering with it. His face is curled into the side of Kurt’s neck, and Kurt can feel his own pulse thumping against the press of it. _Bup-bum, bup-bum._ Like his heart is beating for Blaine again, like it knows that he’s there. Kurt fists his hands in Blaine’s pajama top, and he doesn’t let go.


	17. River

“It was you,” Kurt says. They’re lying together on Blaine’s bed, not sleeping. They’re both still dressed in their pajamas, but they’re curled around each other, whispering the distance between them away. “You always helped me be brave.”

Blaine raises his head from Kurt’s shoulder and twists to squint skeptically at him. “What are you talking about? You were the bravest person I’d ever met, right from the start.”

Kurt can only scoff at that. It’s not how he remembers it at all. “Please. I was a mess back then.” 

“You were in a bad situation. But you went into the lion’s den, every day.”

“What choice did I have?”

Blaine pokes at his side. “See? That’s my Kurt.”

Kurt’s heart stutters a little. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you had choices. There are always choices. But hiding, dropping out, all these things — they were worse options. So you did what you had to.”

“Armed with an inspirational quote from my dapper friend in the Warblers.” Blaine had texted him a new one every morning: _Freedom lies in being bold — Robert Frost_. _The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud. — Coco Chanel._ Kurt had teased him for it, pretended it didn’t matter, but he held on to those notes like a lifeline. “You don’t know how much those helped, Blaine. Thank you.”

“Well, Trent found most of those quotes for me,” Blaine says. “So you should be thanking him.”

Kurt pokes Blaine back. “Trent. Trent was not the Warbler whose support I wanted.”

“Well, you had us both in your corner anyway.”  

“I know.” Kurt sighs. “Trent. Whatever happened to him?”

“Oh, he’s at Harvard now.” Blaine rattles off the highlights of Trent’s last few years — “and he’s moving to New York! You should get coffee” — and moves on to telling him about some of their other Dalton friends. Kurt hasn’t thought about any of these guys since his post-breakup Facebook defriending spree, but Blaine has kept up with them all, and not just in the ‘occasionally hit Like on some of their pictures’ sort of way Kurt has kept up with most of the New Directions. Kurt wonders how much more Blaine knows about the lives of their mutual friends than he does. He’s going to have to remember to unblock Blaine on Facebook in the morning. 

“You have a talent for people,” Kurt says, and when Blaine demurs, turning his face away, he shakes Blaine’s hip to get him to pay attention. “You do. You make people feel welcomed, and cared for, and happy. You draw them to you. It’s a gift.”

“Thanks?” Blaine says. “I guess. It’s not like it’s something I work at.”

“You’re allowed to just be good at things without effort sometimes, you know. Embrace it.” 

Blaine nods reluctantly at this thought, and lies back down. He rests his head against Kurt’s heart, and takes Kurt’s hand in his own.

The comfort, and the weight, and not having to look at him directly makes it easier for Kurt. “I always admired that about you. And I envied it, because I didn’t have it. And I loved how there was a whole other level of caring that you only ever gave to me. Like you loved the whole world, but you loved me a little more.” Blaine squeezed his hand gently, agreeing. “And that made me feel, I don’t know, special. Lucky. Safe.”

He realizes as he says it that he’s been chasing that sense of safety in all of his relationships since. Adam, Jack, Lucas — well, Steve was just about the sex, but other than him, Kurt’s relationships have all been with guys who made him feel safe, one way or another. It wasn’t always a good safety — Lucas’s care is a lot like constraint — but it’s something he’s been chasing. He’s been chasing after what he had once with Blaine. He’s never found it.

He’s never found a man who got into his blood the way Blaine does, either. Last night, for all that they played it casual, has reopened floodgates of sensation. Nothing's going to happen tonight: they would need time to think and talk even if Kurt didn't have a boyfriend complicating things. But being with him like this, in bed together, is a delectable tease anyway. Everywhere they’re touching is alive: their hands clasped together, Blaine’s side against his own, Blaine’s head on his chest, his not quite dry hair making Kurt’s sleep shirt damp in a way he’d usually find annoying. And along with it, a shimmer of arousal, which is moving through him like a slow lazy river. Up and down his spine, surging gently through him. It would take just a moment, a look or a touch, to turn the slow current into something more urgent, but for now he can stay just like this, with Blaine warm and sleepy beside him.

 He hears footsteps on the stairs outside the room: someone heading downstairs, probably for a snack. It doesn’t quite break the spell, but it makes him aware of it. The world outside continues. “I should probably go.”

“You don’t have to.” Blaine nuzzles into him. It’s almost unfair how good it feels.

“I should,” he says, not entirely convincingly. “Your friends are going to do bed checks again in the morning, you know that.”

“They’re not — well, maybe. They’re just worried about you.”

“They should be. Never trust a journalist.”

Blaine crinkles a smile at him. “With one exception.”

Kurt makes a show of thinking about it. “Really? Anderson Cooper? I _guess_ …”

“Oh!” Blaine tickles him right under his ribs, right where he knows Kurt is most sensitive, and Kurt has to bite back a yelp. 

Kurt rolls away from him on the bed, and takes the opportunity to get to his feet: he’s not sure he would have managed to untangle himself from Blaine otherwise.

Blaine reaches over and takes his hand. He’s lying on his back on the bed, and he looks cherubic and seductive all at once. “Kurt,” he says. He runs his thumb over Kurt’s knuckles. “I want you to know… a lot’s going to change when we graduate, and I don’t know what comes next. But whatever happens, you should know that you always have a cheering section when you need it.” He quirks a half-smile. “I’ll bet Trent’s still saving me inspirational quotes, just in case.”

Kurt looks down at him, and he feels so happy and so sad all at once. Everything he hasn’t let himself feel about Blaine for five years is coming to the surface again, and it’s a lot to take in. “I love you,” he says, and he means it.

Blaine’s lit from the inside, blazing bright, a supernova. “I love you, too.”

 


	18. Stitch

In the morning, breakfast is catch-as-catch-can: the photographer from  _Vanity Fair_  is coming at ten, and the kitchen table has been turned into the hair and makeup department as the Supernova kids get ready for their closeup. Kurt gets some coffee and tries to stay out of the way.

John, the photographer, shows up with his gear and his assistant and an idea — he wants to have the troupe members pose with some of the props from the show, like they’re blurring the line between fiction and reality. This causes a mad scramble — the props that aren’t in storage with the stage flats are still in Tim’s van, which is parked at Tim’s house, half a mile away. John and his assistant work on getting the lights set up in the living room and staging it so it’s just the right level of charmingly ramshackle for VF’s audience. Everyone’s rushing around. It’s kind of like a fashion shoot, with fewer racks of clothing.

The Novas who aren’t part of the props run use the extra time for extra primping, fussing with a curling iron or adding bronzer. Kurt spots Kara reapplying her lipgloss, and goes to lean against the table next to her, looking down at her as she works.

“Yes?” she says.

“That eyeshadow’s totally wrong for you.”

She looks up at him and he’s even more convinced: she looks like she’s been in a bar brawl. “Really.”

“If you want a smoky eye, you should be going light to medium, not dark to darkest. Something with a little shimmer. If you want to go dramatic, I’d play up those killer cheekbones and your mouth.”

“I’ve been doing my makeup like this for years. I haven’t had any complaints.”

“I’m a gay man with five years in the  _Vogue_  fashion trenches and a theater degree. Are you really not going to take me seriously here?”

She holds his gaze for a good long while before she relents.

He wipes off the disaster she’s made of her eyes and starts over. The others watch for a bit, making comments, until it gets boring. Blaine breezes through, sees Kurt at work, and winks at him before he slips back out again.

When he’s done, he hands Kara a hand mirror and allows her to inspect his work. “Well?”

“Fuck,” she says, “you’re right.”

“And if you’re facing the camera, stick your head forward a little.” He demonstrates. “Better for the jawline.”

The shoot goes well, or as well as any shoot involving amateurs can go. John can’t quite get the angle he wants, so he takes a bunch of photos, planning to stitch them into a panorama back at his studio. Then he takes some more pictures: the Novas all in front of their laptops; videotaping each other; singing in a circle as Blaine plays the guitar. The pictures get more fun and loose as they go, and Kurt can already visualize them on the page. He’s hopeful.

When they’re done, they scatter. They’ll be back in a few hours for the group interview, but now there’s classes and homework and errands to do. Blaine bounds up the stairs towards his room. Kara waits around and finds Kurt.

“I do appreciate the gesture,” she tells him. “But you know I’m not the only one here you might want to mend fences with.”

“I know,” he says. “But you’re the queen bitch, and I can respect that.”

She grins. “All right. He can keep you,” she says, and with a pat on his shoulder, she’s gone.


	19. Torch

Kurt goes out onto the porch to make some phone calls. Blaine’s headed to campus, but he dances back up the porch steps when he realizes Kurt’s out there. “Group interview at three, right?”

“That’s the plan. Will you be back by then?”

“Oh, sure.” Blaine bounds back down the stairs and off down the street. He blows a kiss over his shoulder as he goes. “Have a good afternoon, Kurt!”

The weather is nice enough that he’s got his jacket open, though not so nice that he wants to take it off. The couch on the porch is busted and old - it sags when Kurt sits down, and one of the springs presses into his thigh. It’s okay, though: it could be a useful distraction. Nothing about this phone call will be easy.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey.” Kurt winces. “Everything go okay with the deadline?”

“Oh, fine. Just waiting on edits. How about you?”

“Everything here is okay.” Kurt takes a deep breath. “Lucas, we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong? Is it not going well?”

“No, I said, it’s fine.” He tries to beat back the irritation at feeling second-guessed. “It’s — we need to talk about us.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, and Kurt can hear the squeak of Lucas’s desk chair rolling back from his desk. “This is about Blaine, isn’t it.”

“Yes. But only sort of. I think he mostly helped me see what was right in front of me.”

Lucas scoffs. “You see the guy who broke your heart, your words,  _broke your heart_ , and two days later, you’re calling your current boyfriend to have The Talk… and you say it’s only ‘sort of’ because of him?”

“Are you giving me edits on this breakup?”

“Is that what it is?” Lucas sounds ragged, and Kurt hates himself for it.

“Lucas… I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Lucas breathes loudly into the phone. “Are you back together with him already?”

“I…” It seems cruel to tell him about the infidelity now, when it doesn’t matter. “No. I’m not. But it’s brought a lot of stuff into focus. Not just us.”

“But also us.”

“Yeah.” Kurt sighs. “I think I was with you for the wrong reasons, Lucas, and I’m sorry.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

He doesn’t want to say it, but he’s not going to lie. “Yes.”

“Goddammit, Kurt.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“The fuck you are.”  

Kurt can almost see it: Lucas pacing his bright white apartment, his hand running through his hair as he thinks. 

“I can’t believe this. I supported you — I encouraged you to write this article because I thought it would be good for your career. I didn’t realize the reason you wanted to do it was that you were still carrying a giant torch for your high-school boyfriend. Which, just take a minute to let it sink in, how pathetic that is.”

Kurt doesn’t respond. He’s earned this, and Lucas deserves it.

“If you’re that immature, then you’re not the man I thought I was dating in the first place.”

“Maybe I wasn’t,” Kurt says. “I’ve been kind of a mess. But I think I’m figuring things out. I’m really sorry, Lucas.”

“Yeah,” Lucas says. They’ll still have to see each other: their social and professional circles aren’t that large. Kurt’s grateful this hasn’t been worse. “I hope for your sake that you figure your shit out, Kurt.”

“Me too,” Kurt says. “Take care, all right? I’ll see you around.”

When he gets off the phone, he takes a moment to collect himself. The sun is out for once, and the street is quiet in a way his block in Brooklyn never is. He’s got more interview prep work ahead of him. But first, he has to make one more call. 


	20. Us

In Marjorie’s room, he heaves his wheeled carry-on bag onto the bed and sighs. He’s not quite ready to go yet. These few days have taught him so much: about Blaine, about himself, about making art and community. About the value of saying yes. Which means there’s one more call he has to make.

“ _You’ve reached the voicemail message of Rachel Berry, actress and performer. If you’d like to leave a message…_ ”

His phone beeps: it’s Rachel, calling him back. He hangs up and answers her call.

“Kurt. What’s going on?”

“Hi, Rachel. Nothing, nothing much. I was just thinking… I got your email.” He opens the zipper and his carry-on bag flops open. “Maybe you could save me a seat at your cabaret night? I just — I don’t want to forget again and not make it.”

“Of course,” she says. “Do you want one for Lucas, too?”

“No. Um. We broke up.” He’s got yesterday’s clothes still draped over the desk chair; he picks them up and folds them together carefully as he talks. It’s easier to have something to occupy his hands.

“Oh.” She never liked Lucas. One more distance that had grown up between them. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I — it was my decision. I’m kind of in a weird place right now, and it… it wasn’t working anymore.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You sound a little frazzled.” 

“It’s been a long couple of days, Rach. But I’m fine.”

“If you want to do dinner, I’m free for a change tonight, so…”

“Actually,” he says, as he smooths down his packed clothing, “I’m on my way to Lima. I’m having dinner tonight with my Dad and Carole.”

“Oh my goodness. Well, please send them my love.”

Talking about his family with Rachel is still awkward sometimes, and she sounds a little stilted, but he knows she means it. “I will,” he says. “Everything’s good with you?”

“Absolutely. Lots of rehearsing for this performance, but that’s nothing new.”

The part of him that wants, but wishes it didn’t want, all of her success clamps down tight in his chest. He tries to breathe through it. “Well, that’s good,” he says. 

They’re silent as Kurt gathers up his products from the top of the dresser. They’ll all fit in the quart-sized airplane bag if he does it just so, so he needs to take his time with packing it. 

“Rachel,” he says, “we’re still good friends, right?”

“Kurt. Of course we are.” She sounds watery. “We haven’t seen a lot of each other since you moved out, it’s true, but… are you really okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Better than I’ve been in a while.”

“Because this really isn’t like you, Kurt. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but you understand my concern.”

By the end she’s nearly lecturing him, and he closes his eyes. His relationship with Rachel has never been a simple one. But then he thinks about Blaine and the way he’d looked last night when Kurt told him all of his secrets. How it had felt to tell them. “I do,” he says. “I’m realizing how much I’ve missed, not being a bigger part of your life, that’s all. It’s not fair that you found success so quickly when I hit a dead end, Rachel. But it isn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t have shut you out because of it.” Saying it makes him feel dizzy.

“Oh.” Her voice goes small. “I thought it was Finn. That you couldn’t — that I reminded you too much about Finn.”

“Rachel.” He’s cried so much in the last few days, it’s ridiculous. He’s not going to cry again now. “No. You only remind me of him in happy ways. I promise.”

“I didn’t know. Is that why you stopped singing? You hit a dead end?” 

Kurt sighs. “It’s more complicated than that, but it’s part of it.”

“You can’t let yourself be beaten! You have to —”

“I know.” This pep rally had been much more enjoyable when Blaine was giving it. Admittedly, with Blaine, there was the possibility of sex at the end, which always helps. “I’m — I’m singing more, recently. Not in the theater. Though maybe I should try that again too. I… If I book another gig, I’ll tell you about it, I promise.”

“You played out and you didn’t tell me?” She sounds crushed.

“It wasn’t anything worth coming to.”

“They’re _always_ worth coming to. I’m bringing flowers to the next one, I swear to God, Kurt.”

Kurt’s always been a sucker for flowers. “Well, after all the bouquets I’ve bought for you, Miss Berry, I guess turnabout’s fair play.”

“It’s not about keeping count,” she says, though he knows she always does. “It’s about us supporting each other.”

“Yeah,” he says, and he feels lighter already. “I’m figuring that out.”


	21. Vodka

Blaine’s back by 2:30 with a takeout cup of coffee. “I would’ve brought you one,” he tells Kurt, “but we have plenty of coffee here.”

“That’s okay,” Kurt says. Blaine is so bright-eyed and happy: it’s more than a little distracting. “Uh, how was your class? Is that where you went?”

“Yeah — American Theater and Drama. We’re reading _Angels in America._ It’s amazing.”

“I like it too.” It sounds lame to his own ears, but Blaine smiles.

“We should talk about it. My scene partner and I have to pick something to perform for the class and do a presentation on our acting choices. I’d love your input.”

“Sure. That’d be nice.” Kurt hasn’t even thought about that play since a junior year seminar, but he’ll do whatever re-reading he has to. He can’t stop looking at Blaine, and it seems like Blaine’s having the same problem.

Andy walks by on his way to the kitchen. “ _Getaroom_ ,” he coughs, and the spell is broken. 

Blaine looks away, all modesty and embarrassment. It shouldn’t be so ravishable, but it is. “We should get ready for three.”

“I was thinking I could bring some of the kitchen chairs into the living room so everyone can sit.”

“That works. We’ll make a circle.” Blaine’s arms are muscular, and more defined than they were in high school, and he still moves like a dream. It’s distracting, but they get the work done just as Tim and a few of the other non-resident Supernovas start coming to the door. A few minutes more, and a round of determined knocking on bedroom doors, and soon everyone’s assembled.

Kurt’s got his notebook out and the tape recorder is on. “I want to thank everybody for making the time for this,” he says. “I know it’s been a busy week for you all, and I appreciate you arranging your schedules to make this work. From talking to most of you one-on-one, I’ve gotten a pretty good sense of how you came together, and how _A Boy and His School_ came to be. In this session, I want to talk less about the past, and more about the present, and maybe even the future.” He sees some nods in the circle around him. “So let’s start by talking about an average week in the life of Supernova, in terms of managing your social media presence. How are you staying in touch with your new fans?”

“Well, we trade off the responsibility,” Jill begins, and then the doorbell rings.

Everyone looks puzzled, and Kurt can see some of the Novas looking around the circle, confirming everyone is there. “It’s for me,” he says, standing. “I wanted to provide something that would make this all a bit more pleasant for you.”

“Alcohol?” Josh says. “Because I could use some vodka in my orange juice here.”

“I’ll give you a free tip, Josh: never do an interview drunk. Bad things happen. Ask John Galliano.”

There are some confused looks as Kurt heads for the front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Blaine leaning forward to explain the reference. It makes him smile again.

He’s really glad he’s dressed down today, because the boxes of pizza he accepts from the delivery guy reek of tomato sauce and meat, and there’s grease soaking through at the bottom. When he walks back into the living room, though, people are more than willing to jump up and help him with his load. 

“Two plain cheese, one mushroom, one pepperoni,” he tells them. People head off to the kitchen for plates and paper towels and powdered garlic. There’s soda left from the party, so that gets brought out too, along with a few beers. 

“This is really nice,” Marjorie tells him when they’re all settled back in. “Like, really. Thank you.”

“Well,” Kurt says. He gives a practiced shrug. “I understand my name’s already associated with pizza in this house, and not necessarily in a good way. I’d like to reclaim it on my own terms.” Blaine’s eyes on him are bright and happy. Kurt manages not to blush. “Now, where were we?”


	22. Whisper

After he’s said all his other goodbyes, it’s just him and Blaine, holding hands out by the rental car. 

“You know, when you called I thought, maybe we could be friends. You know, just keep in touch again. And that was so great, thinking that. I didn’t expect anything else.”

“Me either,” Kurt says. “I feel kind of spun. It’s been a lot to take in.”

“In a bad way?”

“No. Not at all in a bad way.” He swings their clasped hands, watches them trace an arc in space together. “We’ll keep talking it through, right?”

“Right.”

“And do you know… are you going straight to wherever you’re going after graduation? Or going home? Or…”

Blaine looks up like he’s reading a mental calendar. “Home for a few weeks, and then L.A. Cooper’s getting married —”

“Cooper’s getting _married?_ ”

“Yeah. That’s a whole other — I’ll tell you about it another time.” Blaine grins at the idea of another time. “But yeah. So I’m going out to L.A. —”

“Best man duties?”

Blaine makes a face of disgust. “No, that’s his acting coach. I — forget it, I’m not getting into this conversation now, Kurt. Stop distracting me.”

“Sorry. You were saying?”

“I’m going for the wedding, and while I’m there I’m going to meet with some agents. I mean, I’m committed to Supernova, but we’re all doing our own thing too. Try to strike while the iron’s hot.”

“You should,” Kurt says wholeheartedly. “You’re so talented.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Blaine says, and then they’re back to gazing into each other’s eyes. Blaine’s eyes are so pretty, so expressive: Kurt could look at them a long time. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Blaine whispers.

Kurt can only nod. “We’ll see each other soon,” he finally manages. “We’ll figure it out.”

Blaine nods. “Text me when your flight lands?”

“Oh, I’m not…” And then it hits him. It’s so obvious; he should have thought of it before. “I’m not flying out until tomorrow. I’m going to Lima to surprise my dad. Do you want to come?”

“What?”

“Come to dinner. Or, you know, go see your folks. I can drive you back in the morning if you don’t mind leaving pretty early. It would give us four more hours in the car to talk.”

Blaine looks stunned. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“I’m sure they’d love to see you.” They hadn’t stopped asking after Blaine for months after the breakup. 

“Are you sure?”

“I mean, it’s not some big re-meet-the-parents thing. Because that would be way too soon.”

“Absolutely.” Blaine looks as worried by the idea as he feels.

“But it would be a nice surprise for them. And give us time to talk.”

“Kurt, do you really think your dad will want to see me after… you know. Everything that happened?” Blaine puts his free hand against the back of his neck and rubs it worriedly. “I wouldn’t want to make him or Carole uncomfortable.”

Kurt steps closer, like he can will Blaine into believing him. “My dad was after me for months to try to work it out. Even after I told him what had happened. He will be very happy to know that we’re friends again. I promise. But don’t tell him you’re a Wolverines fan, okay? His heart’s not that strong.”

Blaine laughs. “All right. We’ll break it to him over time.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” Blaine leans up to kiss him, a quick happy press of lips. “I’ll go get my bag.”

They’re making good time on 23 when Blaine reaches over and turns on the radio. “We need some music,” he says. He finds an oldies station, and within a few minutes, the DJ’s cueing up ABBA’s “Mamma Mia.” Blaine starts singing along immediately, and he nudges Kurt when he stays silent. “Come on!” 

“I’m driving. And I thought we were going to talk.”

“We are talking. And we’re in a car together: how are we not going to sing?”

Kurt thinks about that, and listens to the song, and relents. _Mamma mia, here I go again_. It seems fitting. Their voices sound good together: even with the terrible acoustics in this car, they sound good. It’s different than when they were boys singing love songs on the way to school: their voices have both changed and matured. But still, they sound good together. It’s nice to hear it again.


	23. Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: December

“What are you thinking?”

Kurt’s been zoned out, looking at the little Christmas tree taking up one corner of his studio apartment. The lights are so pretty, and the star on the top is divine. “I was thinking about last Christmas. How different my life is now from then.”

“But good different, right?”

He leans in closer to Blaine on the couch, resting his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “Very good.”

Blaine kisses the crown of his head. “Good. Me too.”

And it’s true: he can barely recognize the Kurt of this time last year: worrying over the day-to-day of life at _Vogue_ , sticking his toe in the waters of freelancing, dating Lucas, shying away from his art like a wound. Getting laid off had made some change inevitable. Finding Blaine again had made it sweet. 

“I should make lunch,” he says, but it’s unconvincing even to himself. It’s the Saturday before Christmas, and all he wants to do is laze on the couch with his boyfriend.

“Mmm.” Blaine seems similarly inclined. “You don’t have any work to do today, do you?”

“Not really.” A freelance writer is never really off-duty, but he’s got all of his deadlines under control right now and he’s not performing again till the new year. “Some errands to run.”

“Those can wait,” Blaine says. He puts his finger under Kurt’s chin, and tips his head towards him for a kiss. “We have more important things to do.”

Kissing Blaine still makes the rest of the world fall away. Kurt thought that after a few months of being together again, living in the same city and sharing each other’s beds, the thrill of intimacy would be dulled by sheer familiarity. That was how it had worked for him before, and to a certain extent it’s true with Blaine as well: when he comes over for dinner now, they actually make it through dinner, and even maybe some TV afterwards, instead of heading straight to bed. But what hasn’t changed is how much it _matters_. He hopes that never changes.

They’ve barely gotten started — Blaine’s shirt is still tucked into his waistband — when the doorbell buzzes. Kurt ignores it: an unexpected visitor is almost certainly some religious wacko looking for converts. Then it buzzes again, and there’s a skittering noise like hail against the front window. Someone’s throwing pebbles to catch his attention. “What the —?” He pulls himself away and goes to look. Waving up at him from outside his building, there’s Marjorie from Supernova. “Blaine, did you invite people over?”

“No.” 

“Well, they’re here anyway. Buzz them up.”

Kurt’s barely finished making himself presentable when Marjorie, Josh, and Kara all clomp up the stairs to his apartment. “We were at the Flea,” Marjorie explains. “And Josh pointed out you’re like a ten minute walk, so here we are.”

“You know I’m coming to your party tomorrow,” Kurt says.

Kara makes a face. “Advance warning: it’s going to be a madhouse. Everybody fucking RSVP’d. Don’t these people have families?”

“Says the person throwing the party,” notes Josh.

“It’s a good sign,” Kurt says. “People want to be associated with you.”

“Which we owe partially to you, Kurt,” Marjorie tells him. 

Kurt demurs, but he knows it’s true. The _Vanity Fair_ article had gotten a lot of buzz, and buzz leads to more buzz. It helped Supernova get noticed off the Internet, and it helped Kurt’s writing career too. True, the more personal elements of the piece had gotten plenty of shade on the Internet — interviewing your ex is one thing, but admitting he stopped being your ex while you were writing the article is another. But all that had blown over: as Rachel likes to remind him, the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about. When a former Gawker editor recognized him at a party and tried to hit on him (with Blaine standing right there, incredulous), he knew it was all going to work out just fine.

“So we got you this,” Josh tells him, and hands over a box wrapped up in a brown paper bag. They must have just found it at the Flea.

He’s honestly touched. “You shouldn’t have.” It’s vintage costume jewelry, a brooch shaped like a starburst. It’s perfect. “Honestly, it’s amazing. Thank you.”

They all beam at him happily, even Kara.

“Would you like to stay for lunch?” he asks. They all look at Blaine, who looks back at Kurt. “It’s okay, really.” He and Blaine have time, and he’d like to do something nice for the three of them: they did go out of their way to give him a gift. Blaine shrugs, and so their guests take off their shoes and get comfortable.

Lunch is simple enough: whole-wheat pasta with spinach and tomato and turkey sausage. Kurt can practically make it in his sleep, but he likes the enthusiastic reception it gets all the same. Maybe he should teach a cooking class over at the Novas’ new headquarters. 

“So we had this idea about the detective,” Josh says, and they’re off. Their next show, the one their fans expect, is a sequel, which they’re calling _A Boy and His Werewolf._ But the one after that, the one that so far only exists as a set of Post-It notes on the wall of the old warehouse they’re calling home, is a take on film noir, with an entirely original book. Kurt provides suggested inspirational viewing and a few Post-Its of his own when he visits. Marjorie’s been saying they should write him a part. He needs to talk to Blaine, make sure the two of them can be okay working together on it, but he’s not saying no yet either — as long as he gets to write his own solos.

The discussion continues through cleanup, when Kara takes control of washing the dishes. Kurt’s happy to keep providing ideas, but mostly he’s happy to have the discussion going on around him. Being in the middle of the creative process is exhilarating. He doesn’t know how he ever forgot that. 

“So we’ll see you tomorrow,” Blaine says as they bundle back up in their coats. “And don’t forget, New Year’s Eve is our party, Kurt and me and our high school friends.”

“It’s going to be a giant singalong,” Kurt adds. The two of them and Rachel and Santana are hosting it, and some of the other New Directions will be coming as well. There’s no way it doesn’t turn into a musical revue.

“Oh, we’ll be there,” says Kara. “Bring your A game.”

“Consider it already brought and delivered.”

“If those two don’t end up singing a duet,” Blaine says to the others, “I don’t know either of them.”

When the door finally closes behind them, Kurt turns to his boyfriend with a happy sigh. “That was nice.”

“I swear to God, I’m going to teach them to call first.” Blaine comes closer and puts his hands on Kurt’s hips.

“Blaine. It was nice. You know we would have skipped lunch if they hadn’t showed up.”

“So you want our friends to come over while we’re making out for nutritional purposes?”

Kurt gives him the coy little smile he knows Blaine can’t resist. “Well. They did also bring me jewelry.”

“Oh, I’ll give you jewelry.” Blaine surges in for a kiss, and Kurt’s heart is pounding. The last time he stayed over at the warehouse, he’d found Blaine’s laptop with the browser open to Tiffany.com. It’s maybe too soon, but Kurt knows what his answer would be if Blaine asks. 

“Come to bed,” he says simply. He steps back enough to hold out his hand to Blaine, and Blaine takes it. They fit like this, the way they always have. He didn’t fight for this when he lost it, but he’s not making that mistake again. 

“Okay,” Blaine says, and his eyes are bright with love. “Okay. Yes.”


End file.
